Forever dream
by MMBC
Summary: Intended gift to Siningstar; thanks hon' for all you've done for me. A dream of eternity, because what are pasts and presents if not mere names given in the endless flow of time? Kardia/Degel; Milo/Camus


Author's note: This story has been written in a symmetrical fashion so that it can be read backwards too, except for the last sentence and the tiny paragraph immediately preceding it. Enjoy!

P.S.: I already fixed the French bits according to a suggestion from Aletheia; sorry if I somehow defiled your language. Your help is much appreciated and I'm glad you liked the story. You're welcome to use my stories whenever you want.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Milo's hand was hot on his back, caressing, trailing burning patterns no one knew what, and his hair flowed over his shoulders, and his lips constantly on his cheeks, his neck, his collarbone, his chest, descending to his abdomen, and his eyes bore into his own eyes, and his breath lingering on his sweat slicked skin, hot and moist and rapid…

Camus threw his head back, his fingernails digging into Milo's smooth shoulders. With an arch and a wail, he came.

As Camus collapsed, Milo laid him onto the bed, never separating themselves. He then laid down himself, hovering above Camus, and with slow, deliberate strokes, the pace of it slowed, so that the maddening heat could give place for the warmth that spread between them. The sheet stuck against Camus' sweaty back, but he paid it no mind as the gentle assault against over-sensitive body parts was driving him away from reality again. Running his fingers through the golden mane of hair, Camus could not help but carefully took the strands in his hand and inhaled Milo's musky scent. As that sweet spot inside him was hit, again and again, white dots exploded before his eyes. Then, as he blinked himself into vision, what he saw for a moment there shook him to the core. Milo's face contorted into that of another man, identically similar, yet not quite the same. His eyes burnt a different shade of blue, more fervent, more penetrating, as if Milo's clear sky blue had abruptly turned into a deep sapphire. His golden hair, for a split second, had looked as though it was the shade of the night sky, and so fine Camus almost thought day had become night and sun had become moon, for Milo's brilliant shade of finely spun gold could never have been mistaken with so contrast a colour. Camus closed his eyes and inhaled. When he opened his eyes again, his own body felt as if it was not his anymore. Sure, the pleasure was still going through, impaling hot red spears of bliss into every fibre of his body, yet his eyes felt as though they were another person's. His hands touched Milo's face, and the texture was different, rougher, while his hand looked softer, smaller, more delicate.

"Hey, Dégel." Milo, or whoever he was then, whispered, his tone breathy.

Camus was shocked. What the hell was going on? Yet before he could even open his mouth to ask Milo what he was talking about, a particularly accurate stroke had forced him to moan out loud, cutting off the words that were swallowed deep inside his throat, stuck there in a lump he could never drown down. Yet that voice was not his. Higher pitched, more melodious, and the whine was dragged longer than was intended to, its tone gentler than Camus' own voice when he did it. Without his consent, his mouth opened itself again, his tongue curling on its own, his breath going through the right channel without his directing it to:

"Kardia."

Then the magic disappeared. Camus was himself again, and Milo was Milo, still hovering above him, none the wiser. His movements accelerated, the stroking turning into a pounding, relentless, primal. Despite what had just transpired, Camus' lower abdomen tightened, and a familiar coil set in again. Touching Milo's face yet again, he ascertained for himself that yes, this was indeed Milo, his face smooth, his eyes clear, his hair golden…

"Milo?" Bringing his lips close to his lover's own, Camus murmured between groans, the word coming out more of a question than a statement.

"I love you, Camus. Since forever. Till forever." With that, the world turned black.

.

One minute, he was still Camus, the next one, he was already Dégel, the Aquarius Saint from some time ago that might very well have been hundreds of years, or millennia. The world was spinning, the only static thing being him and the one holding his hand so closely. Light flooded the sky and then receded; stars came out and then disappeared into the abyss of the universe. High above, the moon was looking down, laughing at the couple holding each other so close, yet could never be together. For an instant, the wind was whipping through the blades of grass, then it went still. Then fire consumed it all, the sky, the grass, the land, and their surroundings turned dark before lighting blood red. Heavy, ominous burgundy clouds floated listlessly in the dusky sky, cutting it and smothering it, yet there was smoke everywhere, hiding away the dome and its blanket of condensation. A river appeared before them out of nowhere, frothing turbid. Somewhere far away, within the mist, a lone boat was drifting without direction, as quietly as an apparition from his own mind. The mist around them started to swirl, round and round it went, over and under the spot at which they stood, suffusing into the ground and air, coiling around them like a giant viper that would not let go.

Camus, or Dégel, they were the same but not one, turned to his companion, and saw flame. Flame bursting from his chest, engulfing him in a crimson flare. His once blonde hair turned blue, and in the growing inferno, the impossible hue of his eyes were accentuated, so that they bore at Dégel, dark as matter yet twinkling as stars.

"Dégel," He said, "As you wished, here I am, waiting for you at the other end of Acheron."

Waves pranced from the bank, gurgling higher and higher, one after another. They collapsed upon them, and everything disappeared.

.

Dégel was in the House of Aquarius, counting the minutes until the customary turned itself up once again. Three, two, one, and there came the lover, his lover. He was smiling that cocky smile of his, cape flowing behind him in billowing swipes, indigo hair bouncing with each confident step. As he walked, the air moved with him, by him, and from him. The ground and atmosphere vibrated from his powerful cosmos, radiating from every pore of his being. The sun glowed from behind his back, bathing him in heavenly light, then went out as swiftly as it had sprung to life, marking the end of another day. Marking the beginning of another night, a perfect night for the hunter. The man before him could have been Ares for all he had known, but he knew better than that. Kardia was a man, and was proud to be one. He who would never hesitate in standing up against a god would never so much as scratch his ego by wanting to become a god himself, and that was all there was to that. Without word, the god-like man approached him, silently, with his back straight and his feet light, the smirk never dropping from its place on his devilishly handsome countenance. With a sure hand, Kardia took hold of his face, leaning in, and inch by inch, he finally claimed his lips, as possessively as if they were in his treasure box from long before, he being the jealous wyvern guarding his own cave, his own haven. The calluses on his hand was a stark contrast to the soft skin of Dégel's face, and he loved it as the hand glided from his cheek to his neck, stopping there just long enough to feel his thrumming pulse, and then threaded into the fall of hair at the back of his head, playing the strands and curls as he would a lyre. Slow and slow they went, tongues and lips and teeth twisting together, tasting, exploring, claiming, marking.

"Camus…"

Dégel opened his eyes. Chapped lips had smoothened out, blue had become radiant golden, sapphire had become cobalt, yet clear and sharp as the ice itself. Dégel felt something stirring inside himself, another consciousness. It was reaching out to this voice, which was almost foreign to Dégel. The way the 's' was breathed out at the end, the way his tongue curved, the way his tone had dropped to an entirely different kind of whisper than he was used to. Dégel had no idea who this man was, or who he himself was any more. Yet even as he made to back away, his arms moved on their own accord and came up around the man's body, pulling themselves into a bone-crushing hug. The atmosphere crackled around them as their cosmos' became as one, and so did their bodies. Lava erupted between them, and the dark of night swished into the light of day, glowing bright and blinding.

"Milo." Dégel spoke without speaking. They continued to dance in the white, the temple, the sky, the ground, the universe crumbling around them. Slow and slow they went, hands and skin and bodies caressing, touching, rubbing, gliding, pressing, feeling. Dégel's own hair had turned red, as did his eyes, which were reflected so clearly in the black of Milo's endless irises. It was wrong, and then it was right, and as they continued their mindless waltz, it did not matter anymore.

.

"See that, Penguin?" They lay under the starry sky, among the incessant crying of the crickets and the cicadas. The field opened wide, and the sky stretched far away, as they met at infinity. They were the centre of the universe, two boys lying side by side, whispering to each other in two different languages, neither comprehending what the other was saying yet understanding it all the same. A country far, far away, with the white snow and the brilliant aurora borealis, with the ruins and the icy water that went from blue to cyan to indigo to nothing. A town so quiet it might as well have been dead once upon a time, with the scorching sun, the lapping waves and the stretch of sand till the horizon somewhere out of sight. A woman, so beautiful with silvery hair streaming into a waterfall around her, singing that song that was forgotten so long ago her voice slipped into silence. The father and mother one had never seen, faces with skin of gold and eyes of the depth of hell, and clubs and fists and stones.

"Arabian nights." They both understood it, as they held each other's hand, their hair mingling and their shoulders touching. For a thousand and one nights, and a thousand and one more, they stayed together.

.

Somewhere, somehow, a heart was thumping. One, two, three, and so on to infinity.

"Hey, Dégel, you know what? I love you. Since forever. Till forever." And with that, the world turned white.

.

Day became night and night became day. They opened their eyes and were none the wiser, for night was day and day was night. Yet as they wiped their tears and looked aside, they suddenly noticed forever. And everything was right.

"Je t'aime, mon Scorpion. Depuis toujours. Pour toujours."


End file.
